After the End
by AlienAgainstTheWorld
Summary: A realistic version of what life would be like after the war ends. Containing perspectives from all the major important characters. May or may not be epilogue-compliant. Rating may change in future.
1. The Trial of the Malfoys

**So this is my new story...**

**Following a recent trend, this will also be seriously inclined. Romantic pairings may show up in the future, but are not set in any definite plans. This may or may not follow the epilogue.**

**Basically, it is, according to me, a realistic version of what life would be like immediately after the war ended. **

**I hope you enjoy it.**

**Standard disclaimer applies. **

**~conorlover~**

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Chapter 1

The Trial of the Malfoys

The light from the magically lit coal braziers lit the room dimly, providing the only source of illumination. The setting was designed to terrify and intimidate, and the lanterns so suited its purpose. However, an inadvertent effect was the reaction of those which it was _not _supposed to scare.

Two people, their hands bound by chains, their long blond hair matted and lank, sat in chairs at the center of this magical cavern, gazing wearily up at their captors. One was defiant, daring the occupants of the room to defy his wishes; his partner was softer, quiet whimpers escaping from her mouth at random intervals in apprehension of her fate.

They were surrounded on every side by tall stone benches, in which wizards and witches with expressions of stone sat, their professional masks barely disguising the air of animosity and disgust which pervaded the room. Their dark hoods hid their faces, providing an air similar to that of a congregation of Death Eaters, although these people were anything but. The mystic rituals which bound them to this post necessitated this particular likeness, and although the practice was widely condemned and disliked among its practitioners, there was little that one could say to alter one of the Ancient Laws. Besides, dress was never the prime problem when it came to a hearing.

On the other side of the room, opposite the scowling, terrified prisoners, one of the only uncovered heads sat in his chair, lips pursed with worry, grey eyes dark with apprehension, platinum-blond hair parted and combed perfectly on his head, matching with his dark, perfectly pressed official robes.

Far, far above, another uncovered head sat, although in quite different circumstances. _His _robes were un-pressed and wrinkled, quite obviously just pulled on at the last moment, his hair in even worse state, tousles in it becoming quite obvious through the messy mop. His face was thin from months of malnutrition followed by a few weeks of healthy eating, his face slick with sweat from apprehension despite the cool temperature of the room, and his round glasses in the danger of slipping off his nose. He occasionally raised his hand to run through his messy dark hair, mussing it up even further, and, when not occupied in that particular action, his hand tensely tapped on the arm of his chair, impatience and stress beating a tattoo on the finely aged mahogany piece of furniture. His sea-green eyes were clouded with fatigue, but bright and determined with the intention of the effect of his actions of this moment. He was merely waiting for the trial to start.

Far, far above, a dark-skinned man with an earring in his left ear cleared his throat and spoke in a low, authoritative voice "I now declare the trial for war crimes against Malfoy, Lucius Abraxas and Malfoy, Narcissa, nee Black, open."

Draco trembled in his chair.

This was the seventeenth hearing. The seventeenth, and the final one. Today was the day that they would finally make the decision as to whether they were going to let his parents' go free.

Or whether they would rot in the dank cells of Azkaban forever.

His fingers gripped the expensive material of his robes tightly, the nails digging through the velvet to press against his thigh. He was apprehensive of the outcome, to be sure, but also relieved – for there would be no more days of endless waiting, no more sleepless nights filled with terrible horrors and long, lonely conversations with his own sanity. This trial would be the last he would have to attend that involved his parents, and whatever the outcome may be, at least something would be decided today.

His own trial was another matter. He was being charged on the accounts of being a member of the organization 'the Death Eaters', and for carrying their offensive mark on his arm, but his own fate was nothing compared to that of his parents. Already it was to be proven that he was under severe duress when he had accepted the position, and that his denying it could have resulted in severe repercussions to those close to him. His own crimes were minimal at best, a few accounts of highly unsuccessful torture attempts, and that too under the presence and demands of Voldemort himself. He would most likely be let off with the equivalent of a slap on the wrist.

The fate of his parents was not so easily determined. Lucius Malfoy was a notorious Death Eater, renown for spreading terror through the realm of Great Britain, being charged on several offenses. The list of his war crimes included funding a terrorist operation, being a member of a terrorist group, discrimination against people of non-magical descent, murder, torture, kidnapping, and a thousand other despicable and equally true things. He didn't have such a ready excuse as Draco did, and the defense against him was far tighter. The chances of him escaping unscathed were unlikely this time, as money and influence within the Ministry had a limit, and he had exhausted most of his resources. Nonetheless, he had directed the faithful Draco towards contacts who might potentially change the outcome of the trial. Draco, being a good son had obediently followed his father's wishes and attempted to contact those who had previously leached off his father's generosity and good name – the fact that most of these people now wanted nothing to do with the Malfoys was another matter altogether.

The case of Narcissa Malfoy was slightly different. She, too, had been a member of the Death Eaters, and bore the Dark Mark on her left forearm, but unlike her husband, she had never directly been implicated in murder and torture scenarios. Certainly, if one was to look into her past, they would find certain people who had died or suffered by her hand, but such cases had not as of yet seen the light of day, and the best she could be implicated in was overshadowed by the terrifying presence of Lord Voldemort at her home. However, her willingness to accept the Dark Mark in the first place had raised some eyebrows, although some of the more conservatively-aligned members of the Wizengamot put it down as wifely obedience to her husband's wishes. She may yet appear unscathed from the chaos that had spread with the Dark Lord's defeat – but she may as well be burnt by the flames that licked close to her feet.

The last trial would not be long – it was not a place for presentation, but rather for decision-making. It was unlikely that anyone, either friend or foe, would testify at the trial, and the expected outcome was that the interim Minister for Magic, former Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, would immediately request for a vote from the Wizengamot.

The cold air seeped into the very bones of the occupants of the room, and several shivered and drew their long robes more tightly as a source of protection. Despite its gloomy bearing, they found the room to be significantly pleasanter than a few months ago, when Dolores Umbridge had presided over it with her silver, long-haired feline Patronus and her perpetually present Dementors. Several remembered the toad-like woman with a shiver of loathing, and a glimmer of satisfaction showed on their faces when they remembered that she, too, was being tried for war crimes.

Kingsley was droning on and on, his own voice exasperated with the official mumbo-jumbo that he had to repeat at the beginning of every trial. "On this day on 3rd September, 1998, we conclude the trial of Malfoys Lucius and Narcissa, who have been charged with accounts of war crimes, the list of which is many. Will there be any further additions to the list of charges?"

The courtroom was silent.

"Will there be any further statements from the prosecution?"

"None, your Honor," said the bespectacled, slightly pudgy young man who had led the charges against Malfoys Lucius and Narcissa. Long years of frustration had caused him to go prematurely bald, the shiny skin on his forehead alight with tiny drops of perspiration at the excitement of seeing the victims of his first case being successfully sent to prison. He felt a small surge of victory – both professional and personal, seeing as there were rumours that Lucius Malfoy had tortured his uncle.

Of course, that could never be proven as said uncle was now in St. Mungo's, in the ward for Extensive and Irreparable Spell Damage.

"Any statement from the defense?"

There was a small stir in the courtroom, and many gasped, as the untidy young man with the fierce expression on his face stood up rather clumsily, trying not to, but somehow managing to trip a little on his own dark robes. The expressions on the faces of many of the members of Wizengamot ranged from disbelief to anger, as the person they considered their savior cleared his throat before speaking.

"I would like to present myself as a witness for defense, your Honor," Harry Potter said, his glasses sliding off his nose for the umpteenth time.

The courtroom was silent, but not entirely so. Hushed whispers ripped across its length, conveying anger and disbelief at the current witness. The leader of the prosecution was the most visible in his surprise, his own glasses practically dangling off his nose, his mouth hanging open. Never had he expected this particular person to make his presence known in this case, and certainly not from the side of the defense. If anything, he should have been vehemently on the side of the _offense._

If there was any redemption for the flurried members of the Wizengamot and Draco Malfoy (not to mention his surprised and slightly wary parents), it was the fact that the interim Minister for Magic seemed just as disconcerted by this new development as themselves.

However, being a politician at heart (no matter what his Auror credentials suggested), Shacklebolt quickly recovered himself, and spoke in his best and most level voice "Defense presents its witness."

Mr. Potter had, by now, made his way down to the center of the black arena, and was seated in a chair rather resembling those of the captors, albeit infinitely most comfortable and definitely lacking in the menacing chains that bound the criminals' hands to their chairs. However, the sensation of being looked down upon quite literally by the members of the Wizengamot raised some uncomfortable memories in the Boy-Who-Lived, primarily his experience of being nearly expelled, and thus, he was slightly distracted. Nevertheless, he regained sight of his objective in a matter of moments, and spoke, his mind making nervous additions to his previously-prepared work as he began his rather eloquent speech.

"Your Honor, I, Harry James Potter, would like to narrate a particular account during the war that I believe would help supplement the defense's case. A few months ago, during the Great Battle of Hogwarts, I was at the mercy of Lord Voldemort himself when I received the help of one of the people implicated in this case."

He stopped nervously, almost as if to gauge the reactions of the people around him, and then continued more forcefully. "I was lying presumed dead at the feet of Lord Voldemort when he asked one of his followers to inspect the fact as to whether I was truly dead or not. The follower was Narcissa Malfoy, and she replied in the affirmative, thus saving my life."

A few gasps were emitted from the audience, as the members debated over the truthfulness of what their savior had just informed them, and if proven correct, then the implications of his statement. Draco stared in disbelief at the unlikely witness, and Narcissa Malfoy's head twitched up for the first time in what _could _be the faintest resemblance of hope.

Kingsley's voice was calm as he questioned his friend "At that point in time, did the defendant inform or ask you any question?"

Harry hesitated only for a moment before answering "She asked me if her son, Draco, was alive."

"To which?"

"I replied in the affirmative."

"But what proof is there of her collaboration?" an elderly member of the Wizengamot cried out as he sprung to his feet in indignation. His participation in the trials had been contested by many and greatly debated about, as it was widely known that his own son and daughter-in-law had been driven insane by the power of Lucius Malfoy's Cruciatus curse. "What if she truly believed that he was dead? Then she is merely reporting the truth, not helping a member of the Light side."

For the first time Harry showed anger, although it was restrained in the slight clenching of his jaw muscles. "She felt my pulse," he responded shortly. "And I answered her question, thus _proving _without a doubt that I was very much alive."

Draco felt as though the very breath had been knocked out of him. To hear that Mother had taken such an enormous risk – endangered her life by lying to the Dark Lord – simply to receive an assurance that he was alive, was mind blowing to say the least. He felt overwhelmed by the idea, and, for not the first time, felt small as he realised the true strength of his mother's love for him. An upsurge of filial affection welled in his heart, and would no doubt have shown on his face if it were not for the many years that Lucius Malfoy had spent training his only son to not reveal his emotions in public when he was in a delicate situation.

The rise of whispers in the court, meanwhile, was substantial, and the topics being discussed were clearly dividing the population. One side of the court was furiously debating over the implications of Narcissa Malfoy saving Harry Potter's life (for he could not have defeated Lord Voldemort dead), while the other was declaring that the one good act did not nullify her previous charges.

The fact that further complicated this process was that much of the Malfoy estate had been seized as remuneration for war losses. While Lucius and Narcissa were languishing in a prison cell, Draco was currently under heavy guard in the previously-ornate Malfoy Manor, watching his childhood possessions being carted away and auctioned off to repair war damages. The Manor itself was under threat of being seized by the Ministry – the land attached to it, combined with the rich history and security of the building itself was quite valuable – in which case Draco would be reduced to living at one of the small tenements that his family owned and regularly charged rent for.

That is, of course, if those flats were left at his disposal.

"Order in the court!" Kingsley finally snapped authoritatively. "The matter shall be put to a vote. Has everyone received their slips of ballot paper?"

The movement was uniform for once, the nodding of the Wizengamot's heads. Draco felt a delicious and dreadful shiver run through his body, raising the fine blond hairs on his nape. It was time for his parents' fates to be decided.

"All in favor of charging Malfoy, Lucius Abraxas on all charges?"

A flurry of paper slips, magically elevated by the members of Wizengamot, flew into a neat pile in front of the Minister. Draco felt his stomach sink, as a bitter taste filled his mouth. It was too much, far too much – there was no way that _any _opposition would be able to overcome this.

Father was going to Azkaban.

In front of him, Lucius Malfoy's head sank upon his chest as the full blow of what had just happened hit him. Narcissa let out a low moan, her eyes widening in terror at her husband's fate, and fear at her having a similar one causing her mouth to tremble.

"All in favour of acquitting Malfoy, Lucius Abraxas of all charges?"

A single slip of paper floated down from high above Draco's head, coming down to rest gently on the floor next to the enormous pile that decided Lucius Malfoy's fate. It was from the hands of Antonia Carabelle – Blaise Zabini's mother – apparently a vocal supporter of blood purity till the very last.

Lucius looked up at his lone ally and tried to smile, but failed miserably. He knew the days were long gone from when he threw lavish dinner parties and talked politics with Antonia and whoever her current husband might be. Antonia, for her part, was trying to disguise the pity in her features while simultaneously thanking god that she had refrained from taking a side in the war. No victories for her, but no losses, either.

"'Tis decided then," Kingsley said decisively. "Lucius Malfoy, by the authority of the Wizengamot and the Ministry of Magic, I hereby sentence you to life term in Azkaban."

"No!" Draco cried, lurching forward on his feet. His cry, however, was drowned out by the animalistic howl of his father. Lucius had attempted to stand up and run, but had quickly been subdued by hidden guards from every side. He was writhing in agony as they were securing him, preparing to drag him off to Azkaban. "No, Father!" Draco wailed again.

"Mr. Malfoy!" Kingsley roared at the same time that Narcissa let out a little gasp. "You will restrain yourself from any uncomely behavior!"

"But -" Draco stopped himself as he looked at the pale, white set of his mother's face. Narcissa Malfoy was pale, and trembling like a leaf at having witnessed her husband's fate, but was shaking her head and mouthing 'No'.

"Kindly restrain yourself, Mr. Malfoy, or you will find yourself _out _of this courtroom," the icy voice of a very annoyed Mafalda Hopkirk announced. She had been appointed as official scribe of all war crime tribunals, but her position didn't deter her glee at seeing Death Eater's families' in pain.

Human nature was the same, after all. To cause pain to a hated one was pleasure.

Draco felt tears of helplessness well up in his eyes as Lucius Malfoy was dragged out of the courtroom and down to Hell. The fate that his father had just been condemned to… some would call death a better alternative.

And he was supposed to stay in Azkaban until he died.

The only factor that restrained him from performing any outrageous action was his mother's presence. He couldn't risk her safety now, not when it was already so compromised. So he sat like a good little Minister's boy, watching his father getting dragged away by faceless, nameless monsters, to forever lose his sanity, while his mother sat trembling in a chair, preparing herself for the same fate.

Harry Potter looked shaken from the spectacle.

Interim Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt cleared his throat and continued. "All those in favour of charging Narcissa Malfoy on all charges?"

A small, significant pile made its presence known on the floor, possibly condemning Narcissa to a life of insanity. Narcissa bit her lower lip, trying to keep her emotions in check like a good Black. Draco put his head between his legs. Harry looked anxious.

"All those in favour of _acquitting _Narcissa Malfoy of all charges?"

A few slips of paper made their way onto the cold stone floor, barely a dozen. Antonia Carabelle's was among them. The number was far too small, too insignificant to matter against the much larger pile lying beside it. But…

There were more people in the Wizengamot than this.

Kingsley cleared his throat for the third time. "All those in favour of charging Narcissa Malfoy on all charges, _with _special consideration for the help that she has shown the Light side in winning the war?"

A pile, larger than both its predecessors, began to form on the floor. Narcissa gave out a cross between a gasp and a whisper. Draco lifted his head, looking at the Minister, trying to figure out the sentence.

Mother was charged on all charges. Which wasn't enough to warrant a life sentence, but might be enough to condemn her to a few years anyway, which almost certainly would mean insanity. But Mother had special consideration for the fact that she had 'helped' Harry Potter win the war. Which meant that everything was up in air for the moment.

Kingsley frowned and turned his head ever so slightly to converse with one of his numerous advisors. The two whispered furiously for a minute, oblivious to the hope budding in two individuals below.

Finally, Kingsley turned his head, and said, in his deep, gravelly voice "Narcissa Malfoy, you are charged on all charges, with special consideration for valuable services during the war. In accordance with this decree, I hereby sentence you to house arrest for the next three years in Malfoy Manor, as well as levy a fine of 500,000 Galleons."

"Draco!" Narcissa choked out, staggering to her feet as her bonds freed her. "Draco!"

She need not have worried. Draco Malfoy ran across the room, all consideration for behavior forgotten, hugging his mother fiercely as tears poured down both their cheeks freely. She was safe. She wouldn't have to go to Azkaban. House arrest at Malfoy Manor – she would be with him! The fine of 500,000 Galleons – what was that, compared to his mother's sanity and life? He would pay the amount ten – no, a _hundred _times over to keep her out of that hellhole.

"This meeting is adjourned," Kingsley said heavily. The members of the Wizengamot slowly filed out, whispering amongst themselves at the mother and son hugging below. Some were unhappy – their venomous looks could kill – and some resigned themselves, felt happy, even, about the reunion of a family.

Just the differences among people's characters.

Harry Potter stood behind Narcissa, watching awkwardly as Draco hugged her as if he would never let go. He thought about clearing his throat to attract their attention, but decided against it. What purpose did he have here, anyway? His function in the proceedings was over. He turned to go.

"Wait!" Narcissa cried out, detaching herself from her son and running most uncharacteristically after the boy/man who's testimony had saved her. He stopped and turned around quizzically, his glasses half slipping down his nose, bright green eyes vibrant behind the lenses. She stopped, suddenly embarrassed, but still conscious of his gift.

"I want to thank you," she said formally, if a little unsurely. "For – for saving my life."

She fell silent, unsure of how to articulate herself. But he knew. Harry himself had been in these situations himself far too many times to not understand the significance of what she was trying to say, but could not find the right words for.

"It's all right," he replied. "You saved my life – I saved yours. We're even now."

And he held out a hand for her to shake.

Narcissa looked at the hand, aware of its significance. It was so much more than a simple handshake. This action implied her leaving her past behind, abandoning centuries of traditions and customs, and embracing this brave new world that preached equality and fraternity.

To shake his hand meant forgetting the past and carving out a future.

Slowly, hesitantly at first, but then firmer, she reached up and grasped his hand, firmly shaking it.

"We're even."

Harry looked over her shoulder to where Draco was standing, silver tear tracks still etched into his face. He remembered the snotty little boy who had ridiculed him throughout his school life, remembered the pale boy lying on Moaning Myrtle's bathroom floor, bleeding bright red blood all over the wet tiles, remembered the scared, terrified individual who had faced Albus Dumbledore, threatening to kill him to save his family…

And Harry remembered how he loved his own mother.

"Later," he nodded to Malfoy, and strode out of the room, having just saved his childhood nemesis' mother from certain death or insanity.

And somehow, as he walked out of the double doors, he felt himself become a bigger person.

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**Please review and let me know how you liked it. **


	2. Yesterday Forever

**Yes, I know its been forever. But I have a whole plethora of excuses ready.**

**I was really wondering how to address some of the issues that cropped up in the last chapter. I knew it had to be done immediately, but I couldn't think of with _whom. _I made Harry have a conversation with Bill Weasley, Arthur Weasley, and even Florean Fortescue, but none of them fit.**

**Essentially, I wrote three versions of chapter 2, but since they didn't seem to work out, discouraged, I pretty much abandoned the story. It was only a combination of reading Sense and Sensibility while listening to "Yesterday" by the Beatles that encouraged me to write this chapter.**

**This chapter addressed the various reactions that Harry expects his friends to have, and how he argues with himself over the moral dilemma of helping Narcissa. The chapter title comes from a part near the bottom, and is directly inspired by the Beatles' song "Yesterday".**

**Standard disclaimer applies, that is, I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I own any other commercial unit mentioned here (including any works by the Beatles).**

**Story notes (notes related to the formation of this chapter - basically trivia) are at the bottom for anyone who is interested.**

**Enjoy.**

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Chapter 2

Yesterday forever

It was not impossible to believe that a woman raised in such a suspicious manner as Molly Weasley would wonder as to the doings of her all-but-legally adopted son and hopefully future son-in-law, the individual also known as the Vanquisher, the Boy Who Lived, and the Chosen One. She was, in the best of circumstances, rather overbearing – however, when it came to members of her family, especially those who were subject to media attention, she became downright paranoid.

This paranoia was not something that would make her less of a woman, and certainly only served to enhance her good characteristics – in some situations. The mamma-bear approach had definitely worked very well against Bellatrix Lestrange, and throughout the war, when precaution was the key to survival, but when you applied her snooping nature to a rather nervous boy, especially one who was carrying a secret, the result proved to be quite disastrous.

So far, however, Harry had managed to keep both his dignity and his secret intact, and, with some pride, was hoping that this state persevered. His particular susceptibility to Weasley-women eyes (not blue, but rather a shade of nut brown that quite captivated him) had, as of yet, managed to remain a closely-guarded secret, and he was certainly not of the mood to divulge it, fearing both abuse of power (at that hands of aforementioned Weasley females) and humour at his expense (from everyone else).

As it happened, it seemed to be particularly hard to keep a secret that day. Although he had proven himself to hide dark, deadly secrets like the existence of the Horcruxes from even the most talented of questioners (a formidable list, which contained the likes of Remus Lupin, Bill Weasley, and the lioness Mrs. Weasley herself), he seemed to be unable to keep one that would prevent his own head from becoming sheesh kebab.

Harry was unsure as to how the news of his own interference in the Malfoy trial would go over in the Burrow. The Weasleys were no fans of the Malfoys – nobody on the Light side was, in fact. But the Weasleys had particular reasons for their grudge.

First and foremost, was, of course, the fact that the Malfoy's were proven Death Eaters. A family of such consistent red-heads could not help but be absolutely sure that once one chose a particular side, it was very hard to defect from it. This was true in the majority of the circumstances, but the Weasleys had chosen to disbelieve even the examples to the contrary that were presented to them. Surely, if the tale of Regulus Black did not sway them, then what would?

Harry himself was unsure as to whether people could change. In his personal experience, he believed that they could not – or even if they attempted very hard, the maximum range was 15%. However, experience had taught him two things – one, that a person could finally be made to see the light, whether by a self-realisation such as the one achieved by Regulus Black, or by guilt related to life bonds, such as the one that bound Peter Pettigrew. The second was that people could be very good actors, even if they seemed otherwise. This deduction was further enhanced by the example of Severus Snape, who had been not a double, but rather a triple agent.

The Weasleys grievances, however, did not stop with that one complaint. Although they despised all Death Eater's in general, this particular family had tussled with them several times too many. Not only had they repeatedly undermined the patriarch, Arthur Weasley's, position in life, but they had also attempted to bodily as well as financially harm the family. Lucius Malfoy had made several attempts to have Arthur Weasley discredited and fired from his office, and had, on top of that, supplied Ginny Weasley with the infamous diary (later revealed to be a Horcrux) that had almost killed her in her first year. They also did not forget his (Malfoy's) involvement in the 1996 Ministry confrontation, after which Voldemort's resurrection had been revealed to the world at large. He had harmed some of their children (Ron and Ginny) directly, and later indirectly influenced other factors that led to the mauling of both Bill and George Weasley.

Needless to say, they had been rather delighted when they had heard that both the senior Malfoy's would be tried in front of the full court, and that they were likely to go to Azkaban for life. It was a disappointment that their son, who was barely eighteen years of age, had not been subject to the same rules.

Although the Weasleys liked to portray themselves as being extremely tolerant, and as despising the institution of Azkaban and the Dementors generally, it took great tolerance to redeem someone who had caused as much harm and pain as the Malfoy's had, and indeed, such tolerance had not been present in the world since the death of Albus Dumbledore. It was not something to fault them with – any other person would have felt the same way, Harry included, if he had not owed a life debt to Narcissa Malfoy. As it was, the guilt that would have plagued him throughout his life if he had abandoned Narcissa during _her _time of need, when she had come to his rescue during _him_, with however selfish motives, was alleviated by the fact that he had repaid the debt.

The Weasleys were not alone in this desire to see the Malfoys suffer in pain. There were many other families, and some that Harry cared about. None, however, matched his affection for the Weasley family, save perhaps Hermione.

Although the Malfoys had never directly hurt Hermione (except for the pranks played routinely by Malfoy and verbal and emotional abuse by the entire family), they had played a major role while she was being tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange in Malfoy Manor. They had stood by idly, refusing to help, while she was in agony, and Harry was sure that she had never really forgiven them for that.

He himself felt fury as he remembered her screams, but again, forgiveness, or rather the measure of debts, overwhelmed it. Besides, he had seen Bellatrix, and he wasn't sure anyone could have stopped her if they had tried, save for Voldemort himself. And the Dark Lord was an unlikely option to depend on.

He felt a small amount of frustration as he contemplated the difficult situation in which he found himself. He knew that he had been right to help Narcissa – he was not doing her a favour, only repaying a debt. He was honour-bound to help her – it was his duty, and one of the reasons why he was who he was. But by helping the Malfoy matriarch, he had incurred the displeasure of all of his closest friends, none of them predisposed to think well of the Malfoys. They were not evil to think so, since the Malfoys had caused them loss in some way or another, but it still made things difficult.

While perusing his list of friends, he thought resignedly that even the one person who was likely to support him in such a case was automatically disqualified. While Luna, a supporter for peace and anti-Azkaban since the very beginning, would have undoubtedly praised him for standing up for what he believed was right, in this particular case, that of the Malfoy's, he wasn't so sure. She had, after all, spent several months in captivity at Malfoy Manor, routinely being tortured for sport.

It was an incident like this which made his reconsider his decision to help the Malfoy's. But then again, what was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to watch Narcissa Malfoy rot in Azkaban when he owed her a favour? Certainly he had not been of the belief that Narcissa had helped him because she _liked _or _admired _him, God forbid. He had uncharacteristically understood that the transaction that had taken place on the cold forest floor under Voldemort's nose (imaginary, because, you know) was purely business. If he had been someone else, he would have chosen to believe that his actions then, that confirming that Draco was indeed alive, was reason enough. But that was irrelevant – she would have undoubtedly have found out about Draco's living a few minutes later. And he would have died under the strain of another _Avada Kedavra_, he was sure of that_._She had saved his life, and he was duty-bound to repay it.

_An eye for an eye, a life for a life. _This phrase from Hammurabi's age-old code haunted the corners of his mind. He had only done what was expected. He had paid back his dues without giving even an iota extra. He had not attempted to interfere in the indictment of Lucius Malfoy. He did not owe the man anything. But he owed Narcissa, that much was certain. And now did not. He had repaid. He was free of one burden.

He wondered how Ginny would react if he told her (not that he intended to, of course. Not now, at least, when she would undoubtedly be volatile. He would tell her later, and bear the consequences, whatever they were). She had often claimed that his desire to be the hero, his undoubted Harry-ness was what had made her fall in love with him in the first place. But if his sense of moral repayment and equality was what had made her love him, would she be displeased to hear about the Malfoys? Certainly, Ginny had her reasons to hate the Malfoys, the diary and the death of Albus Dumbledore only being a few. Her hatred was deep-rooted, and most likely justified. But would this hatred lead her to commit a relatively innocent woman to Azkaban?

Narcissa Malfoy's involvement in the Death Eaters had been accidental, brought about as a result of Lucius' interest. Narcissa was certainly wrong to believe in blood purity, but then again, she had been raised with those ideals. She could hardly be expected to think otherwise. Sure, some people strayed from the beaten path – Andromeda Tonks, Narcissa's sister and Muggleborn-wedder was one of them. But they were the exceptions, not the rule.

And besides, normal rules of life were suspended under wartime regulations. In Narcissa's case, she had certainly been a supporter of segregation between Purebloods and non-Purebloods. But maybe she didn't advocate the use of graphic violence for achievement of her goals. She certainly had the right to peaceful protest, and was entitled to her own beliefs. Joining an organization such as the Death Eaters – that was a folly. But she had been partially forced by her husband, and Harry knew enough about conventional positions in a Pureblood household to believe that she had much say in the matter.

Idealists liked to believe that she should have protested, should have carried out a resistance or at least defied Voldemort's orders. But Harry, having been turned into a practicalist by the events that had ensued in his life, was more real in his approach. Defiance under Voldemort's regime guaranteed death. Narcissa had a son and a husband, a family to think about. Besides, she probably compared the stakes, her Pureblood family's life against that of those she considered inferior. The choice was easy. This was not to say that she supported the way that the Death Eater's chose to achieve their objectives – but she definitely condoned it.

If he drew parallels with Muggle history, Harry would have marked Narcissa as one of the many members of the general Nordic-German Aryan populace in Germany throughout the thirties and early forties. While the people knew _something _of what was happening (despite misinformation from the state-controlled media), they chose to ignore it. They were not blind, stupid cattle. Rather, they weighed the odds. Under the SS and Gestapo regime, the chances of their survival after a protest were not excellent. Their families and lives would be in danger. Meanwhile, the Nazis continued to brainwash them to believe that all other ethnic groups were inferior. It was only natural that they would choose a relatively safe life as a member of a sheltered community under a dictator whom it seemed difficult to topple, over a life as a fugitive, running from all institutions under threat of death, worrying for their life and those of their family and friends.

If he drew rough comparisons, Harry would say that in history, the Voldemort-regime in Wizarding Britain most resembled that of the Holocaust in Germany. Surely, not all of the features matched, but the general incidence was the same. One maniacal, charismatic dictator decided that a particular section of society was better than the other (Voldemort in Britain and Hitler in Germany), mobilized popular support (the general, beleagured populace in Germany and the Pureblood supremacists in Britain), and proceeded to systematically eliminate all other ethnic groups (non-Pureblood's in Britain and all other non-Nordic-German Aryan ethnic groups in Germany) while citing officially propaganda to hide their true horrors and also justifying their actions (the farcical Ministry in Britain and Hitler's government in Germany) while using a particular group to terrorise the people (the Death Eaters in Britain and the Gestapo and SS in Germany).

He wondered, if Narcissa was simply a member of a watching populace under an oppressive regime, did that make her a criminal at all, or simply an innocent bystander? What she chose to learn, and what she chose to teach her offspring was her business, no matter how discriminatory and unconstitutional. She had obviously been coerced into the Death Eaters – he was sure that if her memories were put into display, they definitely confirm his suspicions. And nobody could technically fault her under the threat of Voldemort. So could she be legally indicted?

Then he remembered that she had made use of Unforgivables, and that she had escaped from a great deal of the punishment that was being inflicted to others. She would consider herself very fortunate, which she was.

He had been travelling back to the Burrow by the Knight Bus while he contemplated the various problems that had cropped afresh in his life. He looked around the nearly empty bus to see that his stop was next. Settling himself somewhat more comfortably on the various cushions, he thought about how different today would be from yesterday.

Yesterday. How safe it seemed now. Certainly he had been on tenterhooks about his impending decision, but he hadn't technically done anything wrong, so his worry had been somewhat less in amount. He had not felt the crushing amount of guilt that suffocated him now. The whole house, in fact, was in a light mood, one of the first times since Fred's death. The impending trial of the Malfoys, and the almost guarantee of a lifetime Azkaban sentences for both of them, struck a pleasant chord. Vengeance was sweet, and it showed in their demeanors.

He remembered Ginny's smile last night when she had come to his and Ron's room to kiss him good bye. She said that she had loved him. Would she still love him now, after what he had done? After how he had seemingly betrayed her?

He remembered an old Muggle song, one that had been written and released much before he was born, but one that he considered a classic.

"_Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away. Now it looks as though they're here to stay. Oh, I believe in yesterday."_

He wondered if his yesterday had passed. He wondered whether, if that was true, then whether it would come back. He bowed his head and prayed for yesterday to become forever.

**

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**Story notes:**

**Part of the theme of this chapter, that is, Harry's apprehension about Ginny's and the rest of the family's feelings was inspired by the Beatles' song Yesterday. The title was also inspired by the same.**

**Originally, I intended to put up the entire lyrics, however, I decided that I shouldn't, if only for the reason that the singer in the song has already reached his "today" while Harry's still stuck in limbo.**

**Please review! I also welcome any questions or suggestions.**


	3. Plans

**The third chapter of After the End.**

**Certain facts about this chapter. Story notes (basically trivia that deals with the making of this chapter) are at the bottom of this page, for anyone who is interested.**

**I'm sorry for this being so very late. Unfortunately, my final exams were taking place and I could not distract myself. Anyway, now they are over and I expect regular updates from myself.**

**Also, this story has no definite 'plot'. There's no new adventure, no clear-cut villain. The ending of this story is already known. This is merely a chronicling of those nineteen years that were left unmentioned in The Deathly Hallows. **

**I want to thank sherbetgirl and thesnarkylibrarian for reviewing. Your feedback really helps to let me know how I'm going with this story. **

**Constructive criticism is always welcomed. **

**Standard disclaimer applies, of course.**

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Chapter 3

Plans

"So you're planning to go back to Hogwarts, then?"

The sun shone weakly through the windows in the kitchen of the Burrow, illuminating the meticulously cleaned pots and pans, as Mrs. Weasley tried to maneuver them in order to create a perfect meal, while simultaneously attempting to keep one ear open to listen to the almost dream-like ramblings of her companions.

"Yes," Hermione Granger shook herself out of a very Luna-like moment, turning to face the Weasley matriarch, her hands stuffed in a bowl of peas. "Well, I'm considering it. I think I can definitely help with reconstruction, and of course, I want to finish my education. You can't get anywhere without a good education."

"That's great!" Another redheaded witch, much younger in years than her counterpart exclaimed. "We'll be in the same year, then!"

"Maybe not," Hermione sounded doubtful. "I heard rumours that they might have to repeat the entire previous year, because of the lack of any real teaching last year. You can't really count the Carrows terrorizing the population of Hogwarts as 'teaching', can you?"

The horror in Ginny's face resembled that on Lockhart's when confronted with the Cornish Pixies. "They can't do that! That means I'll have to retake a whole year! They can't do that, can they Mum?"

"I don't know, Ginny," the Weasley matriarch replied, the new information momentarily startling her. "They might be able to do so. I mean, the school should have shut down last year. I'm pretty sure it would have, if it was not for the complete lack of appropriate governance."

"They ought to have shut down the school in 1992, too," Hermione interjected thoughtfully. "But they never did. Maybe they won't make us repeat a year –"

Ginny let out a loud whoop.

" – but they'll definitely ensure that we have to finish all of the previous year's coursework," she finished, a smile gracing her lips at Ginny's antics.

The back door opened, its creaking sound coinciding with Ginny's disappointed groan. The inhabitants of the kitchen turned to see Harry Potter, practically-adopted son, best friend, and boyfriend to them respectively, enter, looking rather forlorn and worried.

"Ah, Harry!" Mrs. Weasley cheerfully exclaimed. "You're just in time, my dear. Dinner is almost ready. Hurry up now, and get ready! Call Ron downstairs too, will you?"

Harry startled, unused to this level of gaiety in the Burrow recently. Ever since the Battle of Hogwarts, the Weasley house had been shrouded in sorrow and misery, mourning the passing of a son. Instead of loud, joyful voices, as was characteristic in wizarding households all across the country now, hushed whispers and quiet sobs were all that could be heard.

Harry obeyed orders, and soon, not only Ron, but the entire brood of Weasley children, save Bill, who was dining with his wife at Shell Cottage, were seated in the kitchen downstairs. The loud, raucous laughter was much more in-tune with their personalities, and it showed.

"No, that's definitely not possible," Percy argued. "The Ministry wouldn't dare to take such a bold decision, not now, when they're so close to restarting the negotiations with France again. Diplomatic ties are very important, you know."

Nobody listened to him, with the exception of Hermione, who also had a rather strained expression on her face.

"And then, and then, he actually tried to _ride _the dragon, if you can believe that!" Charlie narrated one of the many amusing stories from his camp, to general amusement.

The entire house was reveling in merriment, with the sole exception of Harry, who stood, staring in misery and guilt at his all-but-legally adopted family. He had betrayed them, he felt, and even though his conscience would not have allowed him to take any decision apart from this one, he could not help but feel like a lowly traitor.

"So, Hermione, what are you planning to do next?" Percy asked, immediately changing the mood of the conversation.

The topic of 'what they were going to do next' had been avoided in the Weasley house, although not really intentionally. It implied moving on, and of course, they must move on. The war was over, and people must settle back into their regular lives, no matter how shattered they may be. They did not expect a story-book ending, and certainly there may not be a shining star rising from the ashes, but a normal life was attainable, and desirable.

Despite its inevitability, the subject had seldom been discussed in the Burrow, and never in open. Hushed whispers communicated thoughts, and sometimes, an offhand suggestion was made, but never a frank discussion. It was only now, that this topic had come into the limelight, and this time, it seemed reluctant to leave it without determining the fates of all present once and for all.

Hermione cast an eye around the table. Her best friends, and her adopted family stared back at her, each with varying measures of love and concern in their eyes. They, if no one else, deserved to know what she intended to do with her life. They had supported her throughout her life as a witch, and had become a surrogate family after she had willingly banished her own. She looked at Harry and Ron – her pillars of strength, all through these years, supporting her whenever she needed them, and made a decision.

"I'm planning to go back to Hogwarts, and finish my seventh year. Professor McGonagall can use all the help she can get now, and I think I may be of some use in repairing the castle. Besides, I always did want to finish my education. After I graduate, I think I will go to Australia and relieve my parents of the memory charm."

Surprise was evident on the faces of her companions. Exclamations and questions rained from all about, ranging from "Go back to school! Why?" to "But why not lift the memory charm now?"

She shook her head, her mind reeling with the implications of the decisions she had just made, but she knew, instinctively, that she would not change her mind. "School has always been very important to me, as you know, and the level of teaching that is available at Hogwarts is seldom found anywhere else. I want to receive the best teaching possible. And as for my parents – well, the memory charm I placed on them is very complicated. It requires a good deal of advanced spellwork, and often, the reversing spell harms the recipient irrevocably. I want to make sure that I know all the dangers before even attempting it, so that my parents are not harmed in any way."

"But, my dear, why don't you just ask Professor Flitwick to do it? He's very accomplished, I'm sure he'll be able to help you," came Molly Weasley's bewildered cry.

Hermione shook her head again. "Professor Flitwick has enough on his plate already without me making unwarranted requests. Besides, they're _my _parents, and _I _cast the charm. I have to do it myself."

The gesture confused all of the Weasleys but made perfect sense to Harry, who remembered his own strange sense of obligation that reminded him that he had to be the one to deal with the Horcruxes last year. It was a moral sense, a force of nature that reminded one to clean up the messes that they were responsible for, though not necessarily had caused, or bear the consequences.

"What about _you, _Ron?" Charlie interjected, trying to diffuse the awkward and contemplative atmosphere. "Have you decided yet?"

Ron sat up straighter, knowing that his family would be judging him and his decision as of this moment. They were, after all, his family, and even though he resented it, he could not fault their interference. "Yeah, I have," his voice cracked a bit under the pressure of seven intense stares. "I'm going to help George at the shop."

Immediately, there was an uproar. Voices of dissent, along with exclamations of surprise and outrage manifested itself in the kitchen. Jumbled together, they made no sense, an occasional phrase like "absolutely not!" or "have you lost your bollocking mind?" making it beyond the medley.

Finally, Mrs. Weasley had had enough. Casting a quick 'Sonorous' charm, she roared "Everybody, shut up, NOW!"

The kitchen fell as silent as a graveyard, the wills of all bending under the enormous one of Mrs. Weasley.

The Weasley matriarch turned to her youngest son. "Ron, have you lost your mind? Helping George at the shop, what are you thinking? Of course you're going to go to Hogwarts and finish your schooling –"

"No, Mum, I'm not," Ron interjected, for the first time in his life feeling bold enough. He had been steamrolled for the last eighteen years, his mind crushed under the crippling strength of knowing that he was not as good as his siblings. But today, he had finally decided, made a decision that would change his life. Whether in a positive or a negative way, he could not decide, but he was determined to stick to it, proud that he himself had deduced it, with no undue influence whatsoever. He felt a little bit of the Gryffindor courage that had aided him in his dive to the pond on that wintery day flow through his veins, and it was with confidence that he proceeded to explain his decision. "Mum, you know just as well as I do that I have no place in school. Oh, I know it was necessary, and I'm not saying that I didn't learn anything in my six years there. What I'm saying, is that school has nothing more to teach me that I will find necessary in my future, whatever that may be. Its just… unneeded, now."

"What about Auror training?" Harry quietly asked, still reeling from this bombshell. "We discussed entering it together, didn't we?"

Ron hesitated. This was the _real _hard part, the part that he felt would require the most explanation and persuasion. "I –" he faltered, thinking furiously about how to word his response. One popped out of him before he could control himself "I'm just not ready yet."

The remark was met with considerable consternation. "Whatever do you mean, Ronnie?" Mrs. Weasley seemed puzzled. "You've always wanted to be an Auror."

"You said that you either wanted to be an Auror or a professional Keeper, Ron," Hermione said, her voice softly, if unintentionally, accusing.

He flinched at the reminder of his childhood fantasies. Even though his dreams were not unusual for a person of his age, now, after so much had transpired, they seemed childish and juvenile, reminders of an age when he had been blissfully ignorant.

"It's not that I'm not ready," he said, thinking quickly. "I just – I just don't think that this is the right time for me to become an Auror."

Complete silence followed this statement.

Ron hurried to explain. "I just feel that right now, as of this instant, being an Auror is not the right occupation for me. I just spent the last few years directly or indirectly fighting the Death Eaters and Dark Forces. I just want a normal job for once. Besides –" his eyes fell on his elder brother "– I think George might need a little help with the shop.

The eyes switched to George Weasley, who fidgeted uncomfortably at this sudden attention. "Well," he started slowly. "I won't deny it. With the end of the war, I have a moral obligation to continue the shop. The people deserve a bit of happiness. Plus, our sales are through the roof. Everyone seems to be in the mood to celebrate. And Fred wouldn't have wanted me to shut it down."

A shadow fell over the table at the reminder of Fred's death. This was the topic that had haunted the minds of the inhabitants of the Burrow. Fred, so young and lively, and whose death had been so very, very untimely. Who better than George would know what Fred would have wanted?

"Anyway," George said, pulling his mind out of the dark place it had wandered to. "Sales are through the roof, and everyone wants a holiday. With the extra cash, I've hired a couple of new employees, but I need someone to help me with the administrators' job." His eyes fell on his younger brother. "Are you really willing?"

The question, although said in a crowded room, was meant for Ron's ears alone. Lifting his chin, the tall, freckled redhead replied "Yes, yes I am."

"I suppose," Mrs. Weasley's voice quavered a little, and seemed a little weak, a product of the emotions that always seemed to arise at the mention of Fred's name. "I suppose it won't do any harm. And you will be helping Georgie, after all."

And so, that matter was settled.

Only one person noted that another, however subtle, statement had been made. Hermione turned to Harry, and asked "Are you really going to start Auror training?"

The Boy-Who-Lived turned red, silently cursing his best friend to hell for managing to notice that little blip. He cleared his throat nervously, uncomfortably noticing that he was now the center of attention. "I was considering it," he mumbled.

Ginny rose from her position at the table. "Why?" she demanded of her boyfriend, oblivious of all the stares that she was receiving from her family. "Why would you want to do that?"

Harry mumbled in his reply, unable to quite meet anybody's gaze. "Well, Kingsley offered me a position under him – a sort of student-teacher relationship, I think you could say, and, well – it sounds like a good opportunity, doesn't it?"

"No, it doesn't!" The words, almost wail-like, burst from Ginny's mouth. "I just got you back, and now you want to go off fighting dark wizards _again_?"

He shuffled again, but defensively this time, hating being put on the spot like this. "I won't be 'going off' anywhere. I'd stay in the Ministry, and Kingsley will give me a sort of introductory spot. Kind of like an intern, I guess you could say. I'll observe, and occasionally participate. Its good Auror training." His eyes shifted to Ron. "The offer was for both of us," he finished quietly.

Ron stiffened at the news, but then remembered his decision. "I'd prefer to stay at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes for now," he replied resolutely.

Hermione shot him a proud glance, and he sat up straighter, his ears turning a red so deep that it clashed unattractively with his hair.

Harry turned his head back to the table, a vague sense of irritation clouding his mind. He had fully expected Ron to go with him, and to find out that he was wrong did not sit well with his plans. Also, this confrontation with Ginny, which he had been planning to have in private, was now out for the world to see. He flushed, and said, in a low, rather aggressive voice "It's a good opportunity, and I fully intend to take it."

Ginny flushed red, and almost screamed her next words "Of course it's a 'good opportunity'! Everything seems to be a good opportunity to you, doesn't it?"

Harry rose, his anger now more prominent. "You're going to in Hogwarts for the next year anyway, Ginny! How does it matter if I want to stay in London and actually learn something that may help me get a job?"

"It matters because you're putting yourself in harm's way anyway! Why can't you just take a normal job, like everyone else? Why can't you go back to Hogwarts, too?"

"Because I don't want to!" He roared, finally losing his temper. He had had enough of being dictated to, and controlled. His future, after Voldemort's demise, was at least something that he had power over, and he fully intended to exercise that power. "I don't want to do anything else, Ginny. I want to be an Auror. I don't have to explain myself to anybody!"

Utter silence followed that statement, until Hermione's words broke through it. "Harry, we're only trying to help."

"Yeah, mate, you don't have to go all 'Braveheart' on us," George muttered, showing a trace of the former humour that had always accompanied him, and that had seemingly left after Fred's death.

Harry felt his temper recede, and looked at Ginny with a mixture of apology and sorrow on his face. "Ginny, I'm so –"

She stormed out of the room, slamming the kitchen door behind her. They could hear her loud footsteps stomping up.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. "Should I go after her?" she enquired of the room at large.

"Don't bother," George was cleaning his nails with a toothpick. Flicking it away, he raised his eyes. "She has temper tantrums like this all the time; they'll blow away soon enough."

Dubiously trusting the elder Weasley's advice, Hermione sank back in her chair.

"Well, I, for one, will be going back to my dragons," Charlie announced in an effort to break the awkward silence.

Another medley ensued. Mrs. Weasley wanted Charlie to stay in Britain, and help with the reconstruction effort, as well as stay with the family.

Charlie managed in persuading her. "Look, Mum. I can't be of any help here. You know I'm not meant to be inside. I need to be outside. If I'm cooped up in the Burrow all day, I'll go insane. Besides, you guys seem to be doing fine with the reconstruction stuff anyway. I'm just not needed here. Besides, Warren wrote and said that those dragons miss me like crazy."

And that was all it took.

"I suppose George will be going back to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, won't you, Georgie?" Mrs. Weasley said to her son fondly. At his sharp nod, she turned to her remaining son at the table. "What about you, Percy?"

"I'll be going back to the Ministry," Percy announced decisively.

General shock and surprise ensued.

"The reasoning," Percy practically shouted over the alarmed cries of his family. "Behind my decision is this: the Ministry could use my expertise in dealing with foreign negotiations. I have spent several valuable years in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and my knowledge could come to use now, when we are trying to reestablish ties with the rest of the world."

"But Perce –" Mrs. Weasley began distressedly.

"The Minister invited me personally." Percy interjected firmly.

Utter silence ensued for the umpteenth time. Once again, Hermione was the one to break it. "What?"

Percy straightened himself, evidently proud of this fact. "_Kingsley_," he said proudly. "Invited me to be a part of his Ministry as a Senior Advisor in the Department for International Magical Cooperation. He feels that my expertise in the area of reestablishing negotiations would be particular useful at this trying time."

Mrs. Weasley blinked. "Well, my dear," she said, her voice quavering a little again. "That's – that's splendid news! I'm very, very proud of you." She hugged her son.

Percy's glasses slid down his nose, evidently not expecting this emotional a reaction from his mother. "Well," he continued, his voice rather gruff. "Well, it's not very much – no, it is. It is a big deal. I've been personally chosen by the Minister of Magic himself. Thank you, mother. This is an honour for our family!"

Charlie softly snickered at the words, while George rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath "Some pompous prats never change."

Mrs. Weasley wiped her eyes, and then exclaimed "Oh dear, look, Father's on his way, dear!" while pointing at the magical clock, in which Arthur Weasley's hand had suddenly spun from 'Work' to 'Travelling', finally coming to a rest at 'Home'.

From outside, Mr. Weasley's voice could be heard, jovially announcing that he was home.

The entire family rose, and went to greet their patriarch, including Hermione, who grabbed Ron's hand on the way, and smiled encouragingly at him. Ron's ears, if possible, became even redder by the sudden influx of blood.

Only Harry remained back in the kitchen, remembering with a sinking heart the events that had transpired today, and, in it his part. He had no intention of revealing his involvement anytime soon, but he knew that the news about the Malfoy trial would spread through the country like wildfire, and with it, bring back the dark shadow to the Weasley house.

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**As always, feedback is appreciated.**

**Chapter notes: This chapter was written in a single sitting. Its is actually must longer than I planned it would be, almost 800 words longer. It was extensively researched, and I made sure that I read every single interview that detailed the occupations of the characters after the end of Deathly Hallows. However, it was not mentioned anywhere as to whether Ginny ever went back to school or not. But, for sake of clarity (although I do not wish to affect J K Rowling's work in any way, simply fill in the gaps) I do want to give her a definite place. Therefore, since she's an average witch of seventeen, and at that age, people go to Hogwarts, I have somewhat forced her to go back to hogwarts. It also seemed to me that this would be what Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would want to happen.**

**This chapter has a LOT of conversation in it. I don't like writing conversations. In fact, I'm not very good at it, either. I positively despise it. Therefore, if this chapter was somewhat lacking in quality, I apologise. **


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